


Two Boosh and a Baby

by accio_arse



Category: Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: British Comedy, Comedy, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, Romantic Comedy, Shamanism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accio_arse/pseuds/accio_arse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>blue_boosh Secret Santa: Could someone please do an mpreg Howince with Vince as the mother/carrier. If someone would write mpreg it would make my Christmas.</p><p>With drawings!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my betas schemingreader and severity_softly
> 
> Not my usual thing, but here goes. Note: this story is not being updated at the moment past chapter 2.

*******

 

It was morning, and out the back of the Nabootique, Howard was grunting with a broom.

He had just wrangled the floor debris towards his usual dirt-gathering spot, and was about to fetch his personal dustpan when he raised his head and noticed Vince. He was lounging in the red swivel chair, a magazine dangling unread from his hands.

“You just going to sit there all morning, Vince? You’re really not going to help me at all?”

No response.

“I said – Vince! Are you just going to-”

“Howard... I think I’m going to be sick.”

Howard parked his broom in the correct utensil space and strode over to the front of the shop. Vince did seem unnaturally pale. “What’s up, Vince? Did you eat something funny?”

“No, nothing… Not since I licked the top of that blue crayon.”

“The blue crayon? Vince, but that was Tuesday. Back when you were doing a portrait for that mouse, the one that popped in to buy a mug. You mean you’ve not eaten since?”

Vince looked up slowly; Howard stared down into two pools of blue misery.

“Come on now!” Howard patted Vince’s shoulder encouragingly. “How about some nice porridge pancakes – nice and stodgy like the ones I had for breakfast? There now. Thick and wholegrain. Feed you up. That’ll put hair on your chest.”

Vince’s expression turned to one of nausea and he leaned forward in his chair.

At that moment, the door clanged open, and Naboo the Enigma whirled into the shop. “What you doing, Howard, you shirker? You think I pay you to stand around and clutter up my floor?”

“But Vince-” said Howard.

“Vince, what?” interrupted Naboo. “That’s no reason. What do you want, the whole year off? Back you go, behind the counter.” He waited until Howard reluctantly shuffled back. Vince watched him go sadly.

“You alright, Vince?” said Naboo. “What’s that ballbag been doing to you now?”

Vince gave a sigh. “Oh, nothing he can help. Just… I don’t feel so good this morning.”

“Hmmm,” said Naboo. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t see this coming.”

“But it’s been weeks now, Naboo. It’s has gone beyond a joke.” Vince gestured weakly up and down across his jumpsuit-clad torso using his copy of Cheekbone magazine. “Come on – you’re a shaman. Read the signs. Look at me. Tell me it’s not as bad as I think.”

Over behind the counter, Howard was craning his neck and standing on his toes, trying to see what they were on about.

“Come on, Vince,” said Naboo. “It was bound to happen sometime or other. Given the life that you and Howard have been leading.”

“Howard?” said Vince. “What’s has Howard got to do with it?”

“Isn’t he your…” Naboo wrinkled up his nose, “what do you call it – your ‘accessory’?”

Vince looked puzzled. Then he laughed. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I never thought you’d noticed, Naboo.”

Naboo raised one eyebrow. “Well, it’s not like I wanted to. The guy’s a ballbag.” He gave a private chuckle, as if he had just agreed with himself.

“Excuse me,” called Howard, from behind the counter. “I am standing over here, you know.”

They both turned to look at him. Naboo rolled his eyes.

“So would one of you just tell me just what’s going on?”

Vince got off his chair. “I’m a bit hurt actually, Howard. Three weeks now and you haven’t noticed. The whole time, you’ve been just mucking about – with your cleaning, and opening up the shop, and looking after it and doing all the work - useless stuff like that. Important things have been happening, Howard. You gotta look around you.”

Howard looked over his shoulders, first over his left, then over his right. He widened his hands helplessly towards Vince.

“Not like that, Howard. Like this!” Vince held up his copy of Cheekbone and read from the front cover: “Raw new style trend: the bump!’ Can you believe it?” Vince threw down the magazine with venom. “The bump. Three whole weeks since I’ve had been on the cover now. It makes me want to hurl.”

“The bump?”

“Yeah, the bump. I thought I was bringing androgyny to the masses. But the bump? How am I ever going to compete with that?”

“Vince, you’re still not making sense…”

“Come on, Howard, you know.” Vince gyrated his hips and began a little song. “My bump, my bump, my bump, my bump. Check it out, my fashion bump.” He shimmied in beside Howard, up and down beside him behind the counter. “What you gon' do with all that junk? All that junk inside your trunk…”

Howard’s eyes went small and fixed as Vince moved up and down next to him. “Uh… Vince. I don’t think that’s how that song goes.”

Vince stopped abruptly. “Isn’t it?”

“No. That song’s about a lady and her…uh… ” Howard wrung his hands. He stepped away from Vince. “I think it’s about a lady.”

“Exactly!” Vince stomped back across the room. He flung himself into the chair. “Lady bumps! I told you! It’s a complete fashion nightmare.”

Howard screwed his eyes up. He looked from Vince to Naboo.

“Vince needs a new accessory,” explained the shaman. “You don’t cut it any more.”

“Vince!” said Howard. “What?”

Vince slumped over in his chair. “Oh, it’s true - Naboo’s right. Howard, you’re just too saggy and worn.” He looked up. “Oh, don’t worry - we’ll be the same friends inside the flat. We can watch telly, drink tea – even carve vegetables into little squirrels and pretend they’re in a band - it’s just when we’re out I can’t be seen with you. Your vintage look is so last season.”

“Is that so?” said Howard. “Well, Sir, did you ever think that it might be the other way around? Perhaps I don’t want to be seen around with you. Hah! Why don’t you stick that in your craw and smoke it!”

Vince laughed briefly. “Yeah – Howard, sure. But come on. Get real.”

“I’m serious, Sir! I’m very serious!” Howard drew himself up.

“Whatever, Howard. You finished? Okay - now shall we get back to me?”

Naboo picked up the discarded Cheekbone and flicked through to the main article. “Hmmm,” he said, thoughtfully.

“I just don’t get it,” moaned Vince. “What’s it all about? I covered that baby trend back when I was a nipper. It can’t happen again now. I’ll get left well behind.”

“So that’s it?” asked Howard. “That’s the whole story? You’re just peeved because you’ve gone a month without getting papped?”

“Howard, I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, but I do, Vince. I understand only too well. Why don’t your sights a little higher? Why don’t you follow my example? Look at me. I was once in the audience for a BBC taping of _‘The Really Wild Show’_. There’s something real to aspire to. Yes, Sir! I was present when Terry of Nutkins was spat on by that lizard.”

“Huh,” said Vince - and for a moment, Howard’s spitting lizards took him back to the land of his childhood.

It was 1985, and he was in a treehouse, far away in the Indian jungle. Just him and his _Wild Show_ annual, a Christmas present all the way from England. It had been exciting at first, seeing all those exotic animals in the pages of the book. Robins… hedgehogs… blue tits… _worms_!

For a while, Vince had found that enough. The pictures, the stories, the wordsearches, even the smell of the paper.

But then he had become sad. Animal companions, he had plenty of - but in his jungle home, there were no other humans. Nobody to show and impress with his amazing exotic thing, which he had already embellished with drawings.

He tried showing some photos of the Nutkins to passing jungle birds - but they’d just attacked the pages, mistaking his fluffy mane for nest material for their chicks.

What he really needed was a friend.

“Vince,” said Naboo, breaking into his daydream. “These people on the front cover. The ones with the baby bumps. They’re all human females, are they?”

Vince frowned. “Yeah?” he said. “So what?”

“None of them are men?”

“Christ, Naboo! How long have you been living on Earth now? Why, how does it work in Shaman Land?”

“Oh, we shamans don’t give birth. We transfer straight into our hosts, after first ritually shaving off their body hair.” Naboo looked up. “Why, did I never mention that before?”

“No, Naboo! I don’t think you did!” said Vince. He backed away, using his hands to protect the hair about his person, mostly that on his head.

“Oh don’t worry, Vince. I’ve got a thousand years left in this host. You’ll be long gone before then. Your hair will be as dust.”

“Not this cheeky fringe, it won’t. It’s lasting forever. Every strand is coated with Telflon hairspray.”

“Vince, you’ve really got nothing to worry about. I’m aiming for a ginger host next time. There’s more magic in the carrot…. “ Naboo tapped his head and nodded sagely. “But you really can’t grow a bump, Vince? Just because you’re not a girl?”

“What’s wrong with you, Naboo? First you want to assault my hair - now you want me to draw you a diagram?”

“You want a bump? I could do you one. I can use magic, Vince.” Naboo’s voice gave nothing away; it was the usual laid back monotone.

“Yeah, yeah,” laughed Vince. “Right, sure thing, Naboo. Have a baby, abracadabra. Yeah, no problem at all.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be hard. It’s not exactly black magic. More like ecru. Perhaps vanilla, at the most.”

“Hah, Vince! That’s pretty funny,” said Howard. “You having a baby. Don’t you think so, Vince? Hey, Vince? Right?”

He looked over at Vince, and that was how he saw it happen – how Vince’s eyes began to gleam unnaturally, how his lips moved without words, and how the thoughts behind his retina bounced like a pinball, working it out.

“Naboo. That is well genius.”

Naboo shrugged. “Of course it is. It’s what I do. I’m a shaman.”

“I’ll be the first ever man in history to have a working baby bump.”

“Uh… actually… I think there was already some guy in America…” offered Howard. “It was all over the papers… and the radio, and the internet. He was even on Top of the Pops.”

“Yeah, but I bet that American didn’t think to accessorise his bump properly, right? He can’t have,” said Vince. “Or else I’d have heard of him, wouldn’t I?”

Howard had nothing to say to that.

“So I’ll be the first man in history to do it properly.. So let’s get going.” Vince rushed around, picking out items from the rails of the shop – a scarf, an empty-eyed doll’s head on a chain, a brightly coloured tie. “I dunno - a bump is quite a strong style statement on its own. I don’t want to go over the top… perhaps just a bandana or two? One for me, one for it…”

“Whoa there, Vince!” said Howard. “Hold your horses! This isn’t just some new hat or tawdry trinket you’re talking about, is it? This is a lot more important.”

Vince stopped, his arms full of fabric. He tilted his head. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

“Good, Vince. I’m glad at last you’re seeing reason.”

Vince became misty eyed as he trembled, on the verge of an epiphany. “Howard – you’re right. You know what? This going to be huge. This is so more than just a baby. I’m going to be at the forefront of a whole new style movement.” Vince turned to Naboo. “Do you think you can you get the bump pierced? Cos I really fancy doing this in punk. Androgyny with anarchy! Create and destroy! This is going to be electric.”

Naboo shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Vince! Really stop! I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough.”

Vince squared up to Howard, setting the width of the counter between them. “Of course I’m taking this seriously. Why, Howard do you always assume I’m thick or something?”

“Vince, we are talking about a baby here.”

“Yeah, I had gathered.”

“A real live little person, who you have to take care of all the time.”

“I know,” said Vince. “It’s gonna be great. We can do drawing together, pretend we’re foxes made of jelly, run around in hats and jump out at people, all of that, all of the time.”

“It’s not like that, Vince. It’s not going to be fun and games!”

“Of course it will, Howard. Why do you always have to be so boring? Of course it’s going to be fun. I love kids and kids love me.”

Howard frowned. He clearly wasn’t getting anywhere on this tack. “Well, what about the pregnancy, then?”

“What about it? That’s going to be the best bit.”

“No, it won’t,” said Howard. “Haven’t you ever heard women talk?”

“No, Howard,” said Vince. “Not really. But perhaps that’s because I don’t break into their houses, then hide in their wardrobes so I can listen to their private conversations.”

Howard’s eyes widened. “Vince! That was just the once! And it was a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, was it?”

“Yes! That woman left her front door open, and I was just checking to see if anything was wrong. Then she came back suddenly, and I was startled, and it was too late to do anything but hide in her bedroom. And then she came in, and yawned, and started to take off all her... Anyway – cravings!” said Howard, with definite emphasis. “Don’t you know, Vince? You’re going to get weird cravings.”

“Cravings? Like what?”

“Like when you’re pregnant, and all you want to eat is pickled onions and coal and blue tits.”

“I can live with that,” said Vince. “I can mix them in my Coco Pops, right?”

“But pregnant women get really sick. You’re going to be throwing up every morning, Vince. Can you handle that?”

“Well,” said Vince. “I think I’d do that anyway. If I had to eat Coco Pops and pickled onions and coal and blue tits all the time for breakfast.”

“Vince - your ankles will swell to the size of balloons.”

“As if, Howard. Now you’re just trying to scare me.”

“Not to mention the stretchmarks.”

“Stretchmarks?” said Vince. “What are those?”

Howard described the stretchmarks. Then he explained baby weight, and how hard it was to shift. Vince’s face dropped. He went pale green, then white.

“Yeah, Naboo?” said Vince, turning round casually. “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“Good,” said Howard. “You’ve made the right decision. Admit it, Vince – you’re hardly fit to take care of yourself - never mind an infant.”

“Well,” said Vince. “At least a kid of mine would be loved. It would have fun, and sweeties, and adventures every day.”

Howard shook his head. “Vince, Vince. You’re so wrong. Fun is not what parenting’s all about.”

“What is it about, then – covering the kids in gravel and setting fire to them with sticks?”

“No,” said Howard. “It’s about being firm but fair. Setting boundaries and following them. Never letting yourself get too swayed.”

He recalled his own childhood back in Yorkshire. Each night, after tea, he had been sent to bed at 6.30 pm, even when after he'd left school and had had his first job. Usually he had found the monotony soothing. Only a few rare times he had rebelled.

His parents had held firm on these occasions, and refused to give him any reason for the early bedtime - apart from that Howard was a ‘surprisingly tiring child’.

“But I’m not tired at all at six thirty!" young Howard had said.

"Howard, Howard," said his mother. "Listen more closely. It’s not how tired you are; it’s how tired you make us. If you need to, consult this schedule your father has prepared. After 6.30pm on weekday nights? Plenty of designated bedroom-based activities.”

Consequently, Howard spent a lot of time alone on his bed, just him, his guitar, and his parents’ smuggled jazz LPs. Eventually, he found he didn’t need anything else. He was safest there, snug inside his huge padded earphones.

“Christ, Howard, I’d feel sorry for any kid of yours. You’d just stick it in a corner, ignore it and force it to like jazz.”

“At least it would have stability.”

“And be bored out of its tiny little mind. My God, Howard. It’s a good thing you’re never going to reproduce.”

For a moment, Howard was stunned into silence. Eventually, he replied, “And what do you mean by that?”

“Well, look at you?” said Vince. “Attracted many girls lately?”

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know. Anyway – hah!” Howard snorted. “I’m not the one who was about to impregnate myself magically.” He rallied. “Yeah, where's your own girlfriend then, Vince? Talk about desperate.”

“You want to see how good I’d be with a kid? Do you? Do you?” Vince turned towards Naboo, all the while not taking his eyes off Howard. “Okay, Naboo! I’m going for the baby bump. What do I need to do for it?”

Naboo raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“I’m sure Naboo,” confirmed Vince, while glaring even more firmly at Howard.

Howard glared back. Both of them leaned in. By now, their faces were mere inches apart across the counter.

“Well,” said Naboo. “If you’re really up for it.” He shrugged. “Okay. So first I’ll need a turkey baster…”

“A turkey baster? What’s that?” asked Vince.

“I’ll explain later. Also how to use it. More important, Vince, is the baby seed. I’ll need a sample.”

“Baby seed? What’s that – ohhhh. You mean… right,” said Vince. Without thinking, he looked at Howard and shifted his hips with a twist. “Yeah, I can get that easy.”

“No, not your own, Vince,” said Naboo. “For this magic, it needs to come from someone else.”

“From someone else?” asked Vince. “You mean like another man?”

“Don’t look at me!” said Howard. He held his hands up, appalled. “You know how I feel about this. I’m staying well out.”

Vince gave a shudder, almost theatrically. “Ugh! Don’t scar me with that mental image, Howard. And like I want my baby to come out like you anyway - all squinty-eyed, boring and old.”

“As opposed to huge-eyed, tarty and shallow?”

“Yeah, that would be loads better.”

“Okay,” said said Naboo, breaking in. “So we’ll deal with that later. The next thing we’ll need is,” He paused. “Perhaps the most important thing of all. A really… really…really… enormous…. packet of Wagon Wheels.”

“What – the chocolate covered biscuits?” asked Vince.

“Yes. That’s them.”

“Why Wagon Wheels? What do they do?” said Vince. “Make the kid sweet or something? Coat him with a chocolately layer? Give him biscuits for brains?”

“Oh nothing like that. It’s just that I’ve run out, and Bollo’s not back at Shamansbury’s until Saturday. I thought they’d be a nice snack for after the spell.”

“Okay. So Wagon Wheels, go. Anything else?” asked Vince.

“No, that’s it,” said Naboo. “Well, apart from the....”

All of a sudden, a gorilla’s voice shouted from the stairs at the back of the shop. “Help, Naboo!” it called. “Need help here! Now!”

Naboo yelled up. “I’m kind of busy. Is it urgent?”

“Uh. Think I blocked the sink, Naboo. Fur in plughole. All stuck! Forgot to wear Marigolds again.”

Naboo let out a long sigh.

There was a smashing and sucking noise through the ceiling. “Perhaps not so urgent after all," called Bollo. "Found yellow gloves! That good. But, uh – now flooding much worse.”

Naboo cursed, lifted the hem of his robe and quickly ascended the stairs.

As Naboo disappeared from view, Howard and Vince turned again towards each other. Their faces were close, suddenly too close.

Vince took a step away, moving back with a frown.“ Ha ha,” said Howard, with an unconvincing laugh, but immediately looked to the side.

Then he fiddled with a few items on the counter; a jazz pencil case, the bus to Stationery Village. He picked them up and put them down again, and adjusted them to make sure they were aligned.

After a while, he twitched a glance up. “Vince? Are you really going to… get yourself with child?”

“Well...” said Vince. “Who knows?” He paused. “Nah, Howard. The thing about trends is that they trend away quick.”

“And a baby is permanent,” said Howard. “At least, until it grows up.”

“Exactly,” said Vince. “You can’t rip a nipper up and start again. It’s not like injecting style to an old pair of trousers.”

“Not unless you’re Doctor Frankenstein. Chopping and sewing babies at will.”

“Howard, that’s horrific! That’s my unborn kid you’re talking about. Ugh! Get away from me, sicko. I don’t want to hang round you any more.”

Howard recoiled. It took a moment for him to realise that Vince was laughing. Then with a frown, he went to get the broom. Because after all, there still was cleaning to be done.

Vince hopped onto the counter, and both of them finished off the cleaning together – or rather, Vince sat on the counter, chatted, and texted his mates, while Howard swept, then mopped the floor.

After that, Howard had to wait until the floor was dry and he could release himself from the corner he’d mopped himself into. Meanwhile, Vince stretched out on the counter, and laughed at Howard all over again.

Finally, it was done. The shop was still was bereft of customers.

They pulled up two chairs, the two of them side by side. Outside, the world went by outside the large shop window.

“Look at her,” said Vince. “Flat shoes, but sparkly. I reckon she sells carpet for a living. To helicopter pilots only. At the aerodrome.”

“Very small squares of carpet,” agreed Howard. “Low pile only. Or else the pilots would get lost in the shag, and their copters crash and burn. Umm… how about her?”

“Hmm, that’s harder. Stiletto birkenstocks. Either she’s imaginary… or she spends days sculpting kangaroos only in the medium of cheese...”

And so it went on. Both the stories, and the feet, and the two of them; just another normal day side by side in the Nabootique.

*******

 

Upstairs, Naboo had the sleeves of his robe rolled up to his elbows, and was sorting out business with a plunger.

“Get back, Bollo!” he warned. “No, stop! You’re only going to clog it even more if you do that.”

“Sorry, Naboo. Only trying to help.”

“You’ll help better if you stay on that towel and drip.”

Bollo went back onto the towel, held his arms up, and concentrated on restraining his sodden fur.

Eventually, with a gurgle, Naboo had the sink clear.

“Christ, I need a long one after that.” he said. “Set up the hookah, will you, Bollo? Oh, and you can cross the Wagon Wheels off the list – Vince is getting them this week instead.”

Bollo had now wrapped himself in towels. The one on his head was stripey; the one round his waist was dotted with purple flowers. “Oh, that handy,” he observed. “Wagon Wheels a bugger to buy. Always out of stock in the shop. That nice of Vince.”

Naboo sat on the sofa. He clicked his lighter until the hookah glowed. “Oh yeah, but before I forget – Vince wants some magic in return. So get the big cauldron out of the attic, would you?“

“Ah,” said Bollo. “I see. That way of world. There always has to be catch. But it still okay by Bollo.”

“Yeah, it would be okay with you,” said Naboo. “I’ve saved you getting the Wagon Wheels, and you’re not doing any of the work, are you?”

“Except for the cauldron carrying,” reminded Bollo. “And all the stirring. And metal spoon scrubbing. And going to shops for bits.”

Naboo sunk into the sofa cushions and took a long drag through the pipe. “Anyway, I thought, might as well crack on with the magic, get it all sorted. You know?” He exhaled, and the smoke swirled upwards.

As if reading his mind, the smoke formed into heavy ripe curves, round and potent and lingering. They held the air, then exploded into little baby wisps.

The shape of things to come.

*******


	2. Chapter 2

In the bleariness of the morning and the knocked-over ash of his hookah, Naboo rubbed his eyes, and felt something nip and chase his mind like a dancing prawn.

Hadn’t he had promised something to someone last night? A task involving biscuits – or wheels? Something magical and unusual?

A collage of images swirled past – a turkey baster, two men arguing, and strangest of all, a newborn baby. The baby winked cheekily at Naboo and clicked the heels of its silver platform boots.

Then all exploded and was lost in smoke.

Naboo yawned. Ah well. If he couldn’t remember, it probably hadn’t been that important.

Dawn rose across Dalston while Naboo the Enigma changed into his nightshirt. It was of a heavy topaz silk, all the way to the floor, with a matching embroidered topaz silk cap. The tassel swung as Naboo’s head nodded.

Then the dizzying siren called to Naboo, the one into whose arms we all give ourselves nightly. He closed his eyes as she descended, and he let her crush him to her velvet bosom.

Within an instant Naboo was gone and snoring. As he sprawled on top of his duvet, the last wisps of his elusive brain-smoke were finally gone.

*******

 

Days turned into weeks, and weeks stretched and dwindled. The chill of winter ended and burst forth into the fresh new buds of spring.

Then, one night, Bollo was on the sofa switching through television channels when he heard a muffled yell from the kitchen.

“Hey Bollo!” called Naboo. He stuck his head out of a kitchen cupboard. “Where did you put that pack of Wagon Wheels, Bollo?”

Bollo shrugged. “Wagon Wheels? I not get Wagon Wheels. Cross them off shopping list, just like you said.”

 _The Planet’s Funniest Animals_ lit up across the screen. A gorilla appeared, majestic and silverback, dragging its powerful knuckles as it surveyed its jungle home. Bollo grunted in approval and put down the remote. “Oh. There is Uncle Jojo. Ha! Very good. Wonder what he doing on telly?”

The picture changed; Bollo chuckled. “Now Uncle Jojo riding on skateboard. Ha! He do kickflip and the coco wheelie. Those sweet tricks. Bollo now impressed.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t get the Wagon Wheels?” yelled Naboo. “What are you saying, Bollo, you berk?”

“You tell me cross off Wagon Wheels. So I cross them off. Easy.”

On television, the gorilla collided into some large tree roots. Bollo snorted in disgust. “Uncle try to do streetplant trick and fall over. That trick easy, even PG chimps could do it. Uncle bring shame on whole family. No wonder Bollo leave jungle to come to city.”

“Bollo, I have to have a Wagon Wheel. I have to have one right now.” Naboo’s voice conveyed his extreme sense of urgency without wavering a semi-tone. “I would never have told you not to buy the Wagon Wheels. Why would I have told you that?”

Bollo looked into the kitchen. “You definitely say – ‘not get Wagon Wheels’. Yes. You say that. You say Vince getting them instead.”

“What? When did I tell you that?”

“You had just licked that frog. Then you went out for a bit. Then you come back and say to Bollo.”

Naboo stood thinking. The context did sound plausible. “Okay – perhaps that did happen. But if Vince was getting the Wagon Wheels, there should still be some here, okay?”

Bollo shook his shaggy head. “No, no, no. If Wagon Wheels not there, that mean Vince waiting for you to do magic first.”

It was 3 am in the morning, and at times like these, Bollo’s monkey reasoning could be hard on Naboo’s brain. “What do you mean, Bollo? Why are you talking like a tit?”

Bollo looked away. “Huh. Bollo don’t know if talk like tit. Bollo only know what he heard. That all.”

“Come on, Bollo. Don’t start sulking on me now.”

“All Bollo know is, you promise do magic for Vince. And Vince say he buy Wagon Wheels in return.”

“Magic? Why would I promise Vince something like that…” Suddenly, Naboo’s face dropped. “Oh shit,” he said, and grabbed onto his turban. “I remember now. The bump. The magic. The spell.”

“See? Bollo know he was right all along.”

“I said I’d get Vince pregnant. And that’s why there’s no Wagon Wheels.”

“Bollo not mind too much if Naboo call him tit. He know Naboo still his friend. Still, say sorry, not take much effort. Make everyone all nice again.”

“No time for that, Bollo. I need those Wagon Wheels.” Naboo slammed the biscuit cupboard and began opening others in the kitchen. “Come on. Up in the loft and fetch down the cauldron. I’ve got to make Vince a baby.”

The _Funniest Animals_ programme had just finished and as the credits rolled, a voiceover informed viewers that coming up next was the _X Factor - The Outakes of the Reactions of the Performances of the Outakes_.

Bollo had watched that one once. He had found it rather boring. Not enough gorillas, he thought. Far too many humans talking. Yak yakkity yak.

“Okay,” he sighed, turning off the television. “Bollo not plan on doing much tonight anyway. Might as well help make babies with Naboo.”

*******

 

The first thing, Naboo, insisted, was that they needed to find a model for the baby. Otherwise Vince’s child might end up entirely the wrong shape, size or colour.

“It’s not like I’m exactly from this planet,” he said. “I have no idea how human babies come out.”

“Oh, no problem,” said Bollo. “Leave it to Bollo. Bollo know all that stuff.”

“So?” asked Naboo, waiting.

“Well… Babies just like people,” said Bollo. “Hairless and bendy and fragile. Easy to hit on skull hard until they crumple and go quiet and dead.”

“Huh,” said Naboo. “That’s a lot of help. Can’t you give me anything else?”

“Wait. Bollo thinking.” Bollo scratched behind his ear. “Uh… so back in zoo, Bollo see babies all the time. Babies look at Bollo in cage. Bollo look back at babies. Not much else for Bollo to do. Really pretty boring. So the main thing to know babies is…. uh… they very, very small. Sometimes only size of a baguette. Sometimes babies so tiny they only have head. Nothing else. The rest of baby made of blanket.”

Naboo wrinkled his nose. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Bollo see that all the time. And babies have another important thing. How it works is … uh… Before they grown up, babies not have legs. Babies have wheels instead. Yeah. Babies move about in chairs, move like tiny Daleks.”

“Bollo – are you feeding me some royal bullshit here?”

Bollo puffed up his fur and tensed into fighting stance. “Does Naboo think Bollo tell lies?”

“No, no…” said Naboo. “I don’t think you’ve that much imagination.”

“Oh,” said Bollo, deflating. “Fair enough.”

“Just… babies without bodies? Wheels for legs? Yeah - I’d have to see it to believe it.”

Bollo had a sudden thought. “I know! Bollo see one down in shop. Bollo bring. Then Naboo see what mean.”

He stomped off downstairs.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Naboo got ready for the spell. He assembled his eleven magical herbs and spices, and worked on getting the water in his cauldron up to a rolling boil.

“Here is it,” announced Bollo. Triumphantly, he held up a doll. It was large-headed and cloth-bodied, and a little battered and smudged. The doll held its arms wide, as if demanding a hug.

“Ugh!” said Naboo. “What the hell is that?”

“Is pretend baby,” said Bollo. “Humans use it when they get litter of only one. Make single baby not get lonely. Look, it got drawing on its arse cheeks.” Bollo lifted the doll’s dress and presented the authenticity signature on the buttocks. “Baby got tagged some time. Perhaps by Banksy?”

Naboo recoiled from the bare doll cheeks. “Ugh. I did not need to see that.”

Bollo held the doll by one foot so it swayed in the air. Its dress fell up to its waist. “Huh, Bollo wrong after all. Babies do have legs. Not wheels. Bollo big enough to admit mistake.”

“Yeah, I see,” said Naboo. “Just pull its dress back down, would you? I can see right up its graffiti.”

“Okay,” said Bollo and turned the doll the right way round. “Bollo right about other stuff, though. Babies very small.” He tested the doll’s head with his thick gorilla fingers. “Baby skulls squish easy too.”

The doll kept smiling the whole time as Bollo poked and abused it. Its eyes were round and bright, and it had cute freckles, a small nose and two sewn-in cloth dimples.

Naboo picked up the doll with a pair of salad tongs. He held it out at arms’ length and inspected it. “Are you sure this thing isn’t evil?”

“No,” assured Bollo. “It normal pretend baby. I even know its name. Vince say it _Cabbage Patch Kid_. Same as Numan, it from eighties, with electro pop and Thundercats.

“I don’t think Vince is going to want to carry something this evil or old for a whole nine months, though,” said Naboo. “Hold on, I’ll consult the spell book and see what it says.”

He opened up a heavy tome, with sigils carved in fiery letters on the front. The book creaked at his touch, and there were huge locks binding the spine.

Naboo flicked through to the making babies section. Here, the pages were peach and cream, and had borders with fluffy teddy bears holding hands with ducklings.

“Okay, here’s the spell I’m using. This one’s a bit trickier than the other one, but the upside is that I won’t have to use the turkey baster on Vince. I think he’s going to be very pleased about that.”

“Turkey baster?” asked Bollo.

“Yeah. You fill up the baster. Then Vince lies down naked and…” Naboo rolled up one sleeve and made a fist with his hand. He performed upward stabbing motions in the air. Bollo’s eyes widened with alarm. “Yeah, Vince might find that a bit intrusive. Better to do the spell from a distance, really.”

“Yeah,” said Bollo. “I really think Vince like that a lot better.”

Naboo consulted the book. “No, even if this doll turns out evil I can still use it for the spell. Vince makes his own kid. He grows it inside him like popcorn.”

“That good,” said Bollo. “No one want give birth to second Chucky.”

Carefully, using tongs, Naboo lowered the doll into the boiling water. It hissed and jerked as it grew heavy and sodden. The last thing to disappear was one sewn cloth hand, shaking furiously at them both as it vanished.

“Okay, so now the spell calls for eggs.” Naboo fetched a carton and opened the lid. The eggs were brown and in two rows. Naboo ran his finger under the words of the spell. “You can’t make a baby without breaking eggs.”

“Thought that was omelette?” said Bollo.

Naboo read. “No, it definitely says baby. Right, let’s go!” He picked up a couple of eggs in both hands, and without warning, threw them around the kitchen.

One smashed against the ceiling, another against the fridge. A third egg slapped onto the side of a cabinet, close by Bollo, and his face narrowly missed being splattered with albumen.

“Hey, Naboo. Your baby eggs almost mess up Bollo’s fur.”

“Well, that’s done,” said Naboo, and read down further. “The next thing we have to add is the seed. The human seed.” He frowned. “Hmmm.”

“Oh, you mean the stuff from hairy man balls?” Bollo dropped his voice and winked. “Ha ha! Bollo got very good sense of smell. Bollo sniff out every time that happen in flat. Vince do it often, he horny tart. Though he not do it as much as that shifty fellow Harold - he do it even more.”

“Ugh.” said Naboo. “I really did not need to know that even less.”

“I go wake Vince now?” asked Bollo. “He do his dirty business and we put it in pot?”

Naboo winced again at the image. “No, we can’t get the seed from Vince. The spell says it has to be ‘unrelated’. It has to come from someone from else - neither from Vince nor from anyone in his family.”

“Uh… what happen if we just ignore writing? Get it from Vince anyway?”

“Let’s see… “ Naboo read the instructions. “If we make the baby with ‘related seed’.” He shook his head. “Oh, no. That’s bad. The Earth will be spread like Dairylea across the universe, folded into a sandwich, then devoured by a bear with the name of Mr Zippy.”

“That not sound good,” said Bollo.

“Yeah, let’s try to avoid that one, shall we? But there’s not much chance of us getting related sperm by accident, is there? Vince was raised an orphan.”

“Oh. That true,” said Bollo, looking happy. “That handy, huh?”

“Yeah, so it’s basically anyone’s seed except his. That leaves a pretty wide field.” Naboo lifted a large stained mug from the kitchen worktop. “So here, Bollo - go get us some, would you? And remember, it’s human stuff that we’re after.”

Bollo stepped back in alarm. “But Bollo good gorilla! Bollo not do that sort of thing with people, no matter what anyone say!”

“No, Bollo! I meant just pop down the 24hr Dalston sperm bank, would you? Just go and pick us up a cupful.”

“Oh!” said Bollo. He looked out the window. “But it start raining.”

“Come on,” said Naboo. “The sperm bank’s literally round the corner. You should be there and back in a minute.”

Bollo took the mug reluctantly and trudged towards the stairwell. He looked over again towards the rainy window. It did look very wet outside. He got as far as the first step, then he stopped. “How much sperm Naboo need for spell? Bollo just wondering.”

“Oh, even one swimmer will do. It’s quality, not quantity.”

“Hmm,” said Bollo, and furrowed his dark brows. He raised his head into the air, and sniffed – and then suddenly, he stopped. “Uh… Bollo just go spend a penny first. Before he go out in nasty rain.”

Five minutes later, Bollo had a sample in his mug, and his fur was still suspiciously dry.

“Back from clinic!” he said, walking up and down on the top few stairs in front of Naboo. “You not notice Bollo go? Bollo already gone and come back again!”

Naboo checked out the mug. The sample seemed somewhat unusual. Naboo was puzzled as why it was attached to tissue, for instance. Or why it was all dried up.

“This seed work okay in spell?” asked Bollo.

“I suppose,” said Naboo. “If it’s still alive. Let me do a test - Shalah-mahloo! Shalah-mahlay! Yeah, it’s good to go. I think it’s actually pretty fresh.”

“Yeah, only made this evening. Bollo heard all. The jazz, the squeaks, the grunting. Walls in flat far too thin.” Bollo shrivelled under Naboo’s sudden glare. “Bollo promise tissue definitely from clinic! Not from bin in bathroom!”

“Well, as long as it isn’t Vince’s,” said Naboo.

“Oh, definitely not from Vince,” agreed Bollo. “That at least true. So Earth safe from Dairylea sandwich, and bear called Mr Zippy.”

Naboo threw the sample, tissue and mug and all, into the steaming cauldron. He raised his arms mystically. “Shab-ah! Shab-ah! Shab-ah! Ranks!” He dropped his arms. “Okay, and now it’s done.”

Bollo peered into the cauldron. Nothing appeared to have changed. “So now Vince about to have baby?” he asked.

Naboo rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “Don’t you know anything about Earth people, Bollo? It’s going to take another nine months!”

“Oh, yeah. Bollo knew that. Bollo was just testing.”

Naboo rolled down his sleeves. “So while we’re killing time, you fancy a cup of tea?”

“Sure,” said Bollo. “Why not.”

Naboo flopped onto the sofa. “Thanks, Bollo! Mine’s milk, two sugars! Oh, and while you’re at it - the kitchen seems to have got into a bit of a mess. You couldn’t clean it up, could you?”

Bollo grumbled under his breath, but he switched on the kettle and got out the jiffy cloth.

Naboo had already lined up a row of frogs on the coffee table by the time Bollo brought over the tea. As Naboo licked the red one, his pupils widened like ink blots.

“Hey Bollo?” he said. “You know what I’ve been fancying? I really could go for a Wagon Wheel. Go get the Wagon Wheels would you, Bollo?”

“And here we go again,” said Bollo.

“I could murder one of those big chocolate frisbees.”

Bollo shook his head and went back to the kitchen. Perhaps if he dressed some Yo-Yos in chocolate waistcoats he could convince Naboo that they were much bigger than they really were.

He was trying to melt a Mars bar to bend round a Hobnob when Naboo shouted over again.

“Hey, Bollo – I’m glad you got that anonymous donor.”

“Hmm,” said Bollo, squishing marshmallows into the mix. He was finding it difficult to keep chocolate out of his fur.

“You should have seen Vince go mental earlier! Not that I’m surprised. Can you imagine – Howard as the seed donor?”

“Uh,” said Bollo, and looked shiftily side to side.

“Howard only had to mention about being the donor, and Vince went totally nuts. It’s a good thing that’s never going to happen. What a nightmare that would be.” Naboo picked up another frog - a green one – and stared at it. “You know, I think Vince and Howard might have some very weird issues.”

“I think you right,” said Boll, and grunted. He had got chocolate in the fur between his fingers.

“Yeah, I’m sure I’m right,” said Naboo. He took another lick of the green frog. Then he leant back on the sofa with his cup of tea. “Because that’s all we need round here at the moment, the two of them getting all weird on us. The last thing we need is for things to get complicated.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is unfinished and not updating at the moment.


End file.
